Shinon & Zihark Support
by ellerean
Summary: Support conversation between the racist and the laguz supporter.
1. C Support

_**C Support**_

The happy laughter from camp was nauseating. Shinon was cold, sitting far from the fire, but he wasn't in the mood to talk. He flipped up his collar, trying to block the bitterness of the Daein cold. Wasn't it bad enough, being dragged back to the Greil Mercenaries, taking orders from that spoiled brat? But when he saw Rolf on the battlefield with those pleading eyes… crud, he couldn't shoot the kid even if he had to. Shinon bent over his bow, whittling away the splinters, trying to fix a weapon far beyond repair.

"Excuse me?" Shinon looked up toward a voice he didn't recognize. The man's body was a silhouette against the fire's blaze, and he vaguely recognized him from the army. Scrawny, blue-haired, with a ridiculous number of straps across his chest and legs. Probably some stiff they picked up in Daein.

"What?" He squinted up at the man who, in response, smiled and sat beside him. "I wasn't inviting you to join me." Shinon scowled.

"I'm Zihark," he said, holding out a hand. Shinon didn't move to shake it. "What are you doing all the way over here? Mist made some good supper tonight. You should come by the fire, eat something. Warm up."

Shinon narrowed his eyes.

"Listen, Shinon, I wanted to ask you something."

_How does this guy know my name?_ "What." It wasn't a question.

Zihark frowned, but he brushed off Shinon's indifference. "I happened to overhear you talking with your friend earlier. What do you have against the laguz? Why do you speak of them like…" He trailed off, unable to finish.

"Like they're sub-human scum? Because they are." Zihark visibly winced, which piqued Shinon's curiosity. He turned to meet his eyes. "What? You're not one of those half-breeds, are you? Sub-human lover or something?"

Only Zihark's eyes gave him away, a brief shudder, but his body remained still and controlled. "No, nothing like that. Simply curious."

Any other man probably would have believed him, but there was something about Zihark's unabashed question that didn't settle with him. But he was too closed off; Zihark gave nothing away, which made Shinon suspicious.

"Like I said," Shinon said, standing up. "Scum. It ain't normal, being half-animal. And what, they think they're better than us because of it? Think they're stronger? I see these sub-humans our _commander_"—he spat the word—"has in the army. Runnin' around like they're superior to us humans. It's disgusting."

"But don't you believe—" He didn't have a chance to finish, because Shinon was already walking away.

Zihark leaned against the tree in Shinon's vacant spot, frowning at his receding figure. There was something decidedly peculiar about that man, and Zihark determined it was his duty to figure it out. He _had_ overheard his conversation with the blond-haired chap, and while his friend didn't exactly say anything to Shinon's blatant racism he hadn't corrected him, either. It struck him as strange, them being from Crimea, a country that was supposedly aiming to mend beorc/laguz relations. But they _were_; he heard Princess Crimea's wishes…

Zihark yawned and stretched his arms overhead. _Tomorrow is another day, I suppose_.


	2. B Support

_**B Support**_

It wasn't the killing that bothered Zihark as much as the fact he hardly heard their cries anymore. He tried not to look his at his enemies' faces, avoiding the pleading in their eyes before he cut them down. It would be too easy to let down his guard, to show compassion. It wasn't until he heard General Ike's command—the battle was done, the enemy commander defeated—that he allowed himself to breathe. The opposing army was retreating, and they didn't go after them. Zihark rubbed his shoulder. His hand was streaked with blood, and he wasn't sure whether it was his or not.

As they trekked to camp after another long, bloody battle, it took a moment for him to gather himself. He didn't even notice, not right away, that Shinon walked right in front of him. The little green-haired archer was trailing him (what were kids doing on the battlefield, anyway?), and Zihark was grateful when he was whisked away by the general's sister. He took the opportunity to fall into step beside Shinon.

"Hello, Shinon!"

The sniper was taken aback by the sudden company, but grumbled when facing his new companion. "Oh. It's you."

"Listen, about the other night—"

"Hey," Shinon interrupted. "You got blood all over your arm."

Zihark held out his arm for inspection. "Well, look at that." He chuckled, flexing his muscle. "Not mine, as far as I know. But I'll get a healer to look at that. Thanks for your concern."

"I'm not concerned."

Was he confident of Zihark's skill, or did he just not care about his potential injury? Zihark thought better than to ask. The last thing he wanted to do was pick a fight with Shinon, especially when there was so much he wanted to discuss with him. He looked at him curiously, at the blood-splattered bow in his hand. What went on inside a person's head to make him so cold, so anti- . . . everything?

"Are you gonna talk, or are you just gonna stare at me?"

Zihark sighed heavily. He _wanted_ to talk, but this wasn't how he envisioned it. In retrospect, he should have known better than to strike up a conversation with someone so unapproachable. "It's nothing," he said finally. "I'm sorry for bothering you."

"Hey, wait." But Zihark has already lengthened his stride to disappear into the crowd.

Shinon frowned, perplexed by the swordsman's abrupt departure. There was something curious about that man, but he just blew his chance of finding out what it was. "What is with that guy?" He muttered. He thought back to their brief conversation the other night, when Zihark was trying to talk to _him_, a complete stranger. And how he so bluntly inquired after his opinion. "Could someone actually _care_ about sub-humans?" He shook his head, tightening his grip on his bow. "Idiot."


	3. A Support

_**A Support**_

"Hey."

Zihark looked up, startled, mouth full of rabbit meat. He swallowed painfully without chewing. Not that he hadn't expected someone to chat with over supper—he had any number of new friends in the army—but Shinon was the last person he expected to be towering over him.

"Hey, Shinon." He held up a piece of roasted meat. "Want some?"

Despite Shinon's insatiable hunger, he shook his head as he sat. He said nothing at first, hardly even noticing the curious gaze beside him. _What does this man _want_?_ Zihark thought that any attempt at conversation had been previously thwarted, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know the reason for _this_ little visit.

"What's your deal with sub-humans?"

Zihark froze, unable to provide a quick answer. There were so many things wrong with the way he phrased that question. And it wasn't like the two were friends—they weren't—but he understood Shinon enough that he failed to be shocked. To his surprise, he was saddened by his lack of offense.

"I don't think I understand," Zihark finally said. "Aren't they, too, created by the goddess? Why should I look down on my own kind?"

"Your own kind? Pah." Shinon pushed up his sleeve and flexed his long fingers. "See this? No fur. And I ain't got claws or nothin'." He narrowed his eyes at Zihark. "Aren't you from Daein? Don't you go on sub-human hunts and all that?"

Zihark sighed heavily. "I wish you would stop using that word."

"But don't—"

"A man isn't defined by his country," Zihark interrupted. "You're Crimean. Aren't you allies with Gallia?"

"I guess," he said with a shrug. "But common folk don't care about that. Those royals do whatever they want."

"It's the same in Daein."

Shinon rolled down his sleeve and picked at the fraying hem. "So you _are_ a sub-human lover."

"I . . ." he paused. "I believe we were all created equal. But let me ask you a similar question—why do you loathe them? Just because they look different?"

"Look are only a part of it. You've seen how they shift. It ain't natural."

"For us, no. And for them, it's unnatural to wield weapons of steel."

Shinon didn't reply.

"You should give them a chance, Shinon. You know, their life spans are much longer than the beorc. Think of what they've seen; think of their knowledge! It's intimidating, but exciting. We could learn a lot from the laguz, if we look past our prejudices."

It was a subtle gesture, but Zihark was certain he saw Shinon begin to nod. But instead he jerked his head, noticing the plate of unfinished food between them. "You gonna eat that?" Shinon asked.

With a smile, Zihark pushed the plate toward him.


End file.
